12.21.15

His sickness took over
A pain in everyone's path
His depression ruined his mind
His cancer wrecked his body
Everyone warned him
The alcoholism would strike again
He thought he was cured
He figured he was done
Who knows exactly what killed him first
The only thing we know is that it was his disease
His fight to be human
His right to survive
But when you suddenly become kidnapped by your thoughts & actions
It belittles you
It changes you into a monster
Not all monsters do monstrous things
But your demons do take over
& I guess his did

I needed some sort of lullaby so I fell asleep with headphones in
But no music playing
The sound of my dog breathing,
Close enough

He told us to get used to it, so we did
Some odd combination of benadryl and lack of sleep
On that one occasion
Your skin felt like leather and your eyes didn't make any sense

You wanted to ask about my bruises
I saw it flash across your face for a second
You couldn't decide and I put my sweater back on and it didn't matter anymore
Out of sight, out of mind

We were smiling, and peaceful
We were happy, for ******* once, and then we woke up
Draped across your notebook
I was sideways in the chair like I always am
My calculator was out of battery

Thursday hit like very large, very loud truck

I glanced over at my long un-used bed,
Still un-made
My hair undone
I checked my phone for texts from you,
Threw my brush in my backpack already on my shoulder
Left my door open and my lights on

"Get used to it."

she calls herself
"damaged goods"
as if the past stains her future with ***** fingers
marking thoughtless insults on her forehead
for all to see and judge
as if her gaze is shrouded in darkness
only able to comprehend pessimism and bleakness
never able to find love
for she is broken beyond compare
as if her lips will never be able to find another's
for she is so repulsive none will touch her

she fears that strangers can see through her
thinly veiled paranoia
and her vision turns their bored gazes into accusing glares
silently judging her with every blink
she wants to crawl away
and pull her knees to her chest and cry
she wonders if her smiles,
stretched thin across her cheeks
are obviously fake
she wonders when her acting career will be up
and then she will be tossed onto the streets
her defectiveness obviously revealed
to an invisible crowd, watching and waiting
for her time to be up

she calls herself
"damaged goods"
because she cannot comprehend
how valuable she really is
the same way a sunflower brightens a desolate field
she brings laughter to the heavy hearted
she brings admiration from the shy
she brings comfort from the ones
just like her,
who are afraid to be themselves